


in the bunker

by Murf1307



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Darwin is Alive, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Rough Kissing, Sparring, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5726566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armando isn't sure how to let Alex know he wants him.  Alex beats him to the punch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the bunker

**Author's Note:**

> written for a tumblr prompt -- 'alex/darwin — “you don’t even have a clue about the things you do to me”'

It’s been a year. A whole year since the day Armando felt death breathe down the back of his neck for the first time in his life. Nine months since the world discovered what mutants are. Three months since he had to kill someone for the first time, protecting Angel and Sean from a man with ’T.I.’ written on the lapel of his lab coat.

But all of that, in some ways, is background noise right now. Right now, he’s just trying to figure out what his life is, now, and it damn well isn’t just going to be running from catastrophe to catastrophe. Life’s gotta be more than surviving.

And it is. At least, it can be, he thinks.

Three months, and nothing has happened that’s any bigger than Charles deciding he wants to turn this mansion into a school. Armando’s more than all right with that — a school for kids like them, a safe space, that’s gotta be a good thing.

He helps, and so do the others. Alex, especially, seems committed to this idea of somewhere safe for mutant kids to turn if they need to, and that’s something that makes Armando want to tug him close and figure out why, makes him want to be trusted with Alex’s past and all it’s got hiding deep in the back of it.

Alex, though, half-avoids him between catastrophes, like he’s afraid, or something. Like it’s too dangerous, like he’s too dangerous.

And that’s bullshit, bullshit that Armando increasingly isn’t going to stand for.

So he starts trying to spend more time in Alex’s presence, lurking in the bunker, in the library, outside — if he’s not otherwise occupied, he’s trying to get near Alex.

It’s strange, but good, he thinks, that Alex relaxes around him, but still avoids him. He’s just not sure how to ask about it.

Most things, the immediate things, they never need to talk about. They just sort of know, body-to-body, look-to-look, how they need to figure things out. They touch more than they talk, Armando turning Alex with a nudge to his shoulder, or the weight of Alex’s side nudging him sideways. 

Right now, it’s like that. They’re down in the bunker, and since Armando’s here, he’d offered to practice with Alex, because “for all Hank’s good at robotics, there’s nothing quite like a live, moving target, huh?”

Alex had frozen up a little the first time he’d said that, three weeks ago, but now, now they’ve got it down. 

Sparring, really, is what it’s supposed to be, but most of the time, it feels like something else.

Armando doesn’t know what it is, exactly, but it’s so damn good to lose himself in it that he half doesn’t care.

Presently, he dives out of the way of a blast, then rolls the other way to avoid a hoop from Alex’s hip. He swings closer, moves faster, and it’s like dancing, almost, when he takes a swing of his own, feinting a punch over Alex’s shoulder.

Alex shoves an arm up to guard his face, and out of his wrist, a shockwave of plasma knocks into Armando’s arm. Armando plates over, and — well, it kind of feels good, the point of contact.

He’s distracted enough that Alex can lift a leg and plant a kick straight into Armando’s gut. It catches him off guard and he stumbles back, grinning.

Alex — Alex is grinning, too, just a little, corners of his mouth quirked up as their eyes meet.

They don’t say anything, don’t have to — they can read each other the way nobody else can. It’s like their bodies know, and not just because Armando’s can adapt to anything.

Crashing together again, Armando takes a plasma blow to his stomach, which plates an instant before contact, predicting it the way Alex manages to predict the way Armando goes in for a left hook and ducks clear. They’re getting this down.

And maybe it’s killing Armando a little, to be this close, to have this, and not have what he really wants from this thing they have between them.

But he can’t say a word about it, for fear of wrecking it all.

They continue, so evenly matched that neither of them could possibly win the fight, not really, but Armando’s a little distracted, and Alex manages to hook his ankle and drop him — Armando, for his part, curls Alex’s shirt in his fist and drags him down with him.

He hits the ground, not hard but decisively, Alex falling over him like a meteor.

Deep breaths from both of them, Armando bracketed under Alex and all too happy with being there. Alex looks down at him, like something’s coming over him.

They’re both absolutely silent, and still but for the way their chests are heaving, catching up to the end of the fight.

Alex’s eyes close tightly for a second, and when they open, there’s heat in them.

“You — you don’t even have a clue,” he says, his breathless question as much a confession as anything, “about the things you do to me, do you?”

Armando looks up at him, and can’t help but touch, now. “You wanna fill me in?”

Alex practically groans. “Shit, man, you can’t — you can’t say shit like that, not when you’re —“

“Not when I’m what, Alex?”

Alex stares down at him like he’s expecting him to just know, to figure it out by osmosis the way they’ve learned each other’s bodies.

It doesn’t really makes sense, but Armando settles his hands around the juts of Alex’s hips. “C’mon, hotshot, talk to me. What do you want?”

Okay, so that’s a little goading, but sometimes that’s all Alex will respond to.

And respond he does, dipping down and kissing Armando hard. Hard enough that anybody else would bruise, and Armando digs that, digs that Alex doesn’t go easy, digs that he doesn’t have to.

He brings up one hand to cup Alex’s cheek and pull him closer, so when Alex pulls back, lips swollen and chest heaving, he doesn’t have far to go.

“So — you’re okay with that?”

“Hotshot, I want it so bad I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it for months.” Armando grins up at him, traces his cheekbone with the backs of his knuckles. “I’m more than okay with it.”

Alex’s laughter fills up the bunker, and Armando thinks, as they kiss again —

Yeah. There’s definitely more to life than survival.


End file.
